As the daughter of a WWII fighter pilot, I grew up in the 1950s, steeped in the stories of a war supported by a nation filled with patriotic fervor and fought by brave men and women with a clear enemy and worthy goals. As a young adult in the 1970s, many of my friends either signed up or were drafted to go to Vietnam. Here at home, Kent State, demonstrations, and moratoriums were the manifestations of a nation confused by the war and the reasons we were fighting it, but our soldiers fought for their country anyway, and endured too little respect for their efforts. Today, among my favorite desktop publishing customers are veterans of the 7th Infantry Regiment, whose quarterly newsletter I help produce. Their support of fellow soldiers now deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan — my own children’s generation — is inspiring.
I am so grateful to those who have fought — and those who have died — in these three generations. Their courage and their sacrifice have secured the freedom and privilege that I have enjoyed my entire life. Thank you, Dad, and thank you all, each and every one.
On thy grave the rain shall fall from the eyes of a mighty nation!~ Thomas William Parsons
The brave die never, though they sleep in dust:
Their courage nerves a thousand living men.
~Minot J. Savage
And I’m proud to be an American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I won’t forget the men who died,
who gave that right to me.
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